


Not Moping

by theechosea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Sad!Lupin, Sad!Tonks, moping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theechosea/pseuds/theechosea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonks comes to check on Lupin after what happened with The Curtain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Moping

Someone who I'm fairly sure is Tonks bounces onto the foot of my bed. I roll over stiffly towards her and get confirmation especially as she says, "Come on, up and at 'em," smacking my closest leg with her palm.

"You seem to have recovered nicely," I muster, my voice sounding thick and alien.

"You seem to have fallen asleep in your clothes," she counters giving me a look I can't place.

I pull myself up so that we're both sitting on opposite ends of the bed, trying to act as though this is news to me. Am I supposed to justify this now?

"I do that a lot," she continues, "so I suppose I can't really say anything..."

"You were sent to check on me?" I ask, "Is it late?"

"No, not really," she waves a hand, "and no, in fact, Molly told me I should leave you alone, but you know me," she says, "I can never leave things alone..." she pauses, giving a slightly nervous sounding laugh, "Unless you want me to leave you alone so you can mope."

"I don't m--" I stop. No, I do. I remember him commenting on that fact before.

She gives a triumphant grin, "I can spot a moper," she explains, "especially when I've been forewarned."

I stop short of asking her who forewarned her. I have a good idea. She falls silent herself, toying with part of the bedspread.

"I was thinking..." she says, rather quickly, "Moody was wanting to go to the station and scare the daylights out of Harry's muggles. I figure he shouldn't go alone--or just with Arthur..." she looks over at me, and looks down.

"It's an idea," I say, shifting so I'm sitting with my legs over the edge of the bed, facing where the desk is. She moves so she's sitting more on the bed, now that it's free of my legs.

"I keep thinking he's going to come tromping up the stairs yelling at Kreacher." she says, after a while, "It doesn't seem real."

I nod, "I...know..."

"Of course you do," she amends after a moment, "I mean--you've done this before...I mean...I'm going to leave," she stands up, "I'm being an idiot. I'm annoying you."

I stand up with her, as though joined by a cord, and reach for her arm, "No, it's alright. If you need to talk..."

"But you probably want to be alone. Molly was right..."

"Tonks..."

She bursts into tears.

"Oh…come here…" I close the difference between us, her head nestles just below my shoulder, and I rock us slightly as she cries. I rest my head, nose against her shoulder. The feeling of escalating despair is something I've known before. She seems to fortunately not have lost many people, but has the added burden of this being one of her few decent relatives.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she murmurs, pulling away a pace or two, and starting to wipe her eyes with a sleeve. I produce my handkerchief and offer it to her.

"Don't be sorry…"

She sniffs loudly, taking the hankie and then pulls a slightly embarrassed look, as she cleans her face up. I realize her hair has muted down to a soft indigo, and offer her what is probably a watery smile of my own.

"Does it ever get any easier?" she asks.

"No," I answer, looking down at my hands for a moment, "but I don't think it's something you'd want to get used to…losing people… it would make you…less human."

She nods, "How do you do it? I feel like I didn't know him all that well…but…there's this whole and…" she buries her face in the handkerchief.

I guide her back towards the bed to sit down, by which point she's pulled herself together a little more.

"I'm so sorry," she says, again.

"It's al…well, it's as alright as it can be, considering," I point out, "I've got passed being angry at this point," I take a deep breath, "for the most part."

"Okay," she says, sounding slightly unsure of herself. 

"It's stages," I start, "Of grief and..." I can't get through that. I cough once or twice looking away from her trying to keep myself together. 

"I'm sorry," she says, again, "You're...I'm not helping." 

"No," I say, and then realise how that sounds, "I mean, that's not..." I cough again, "You don't have to help, is what I mean. It's a terrible thing and none of us is...it's alright. We're all muddling thr--" 

and then her lips are on my lips so quickly that I'm knocked backwards onto the bed. Nothing in my brain works properly for a good while as it's just tongue and air, and lips, and hands and breath and stars and fireworks. 


End file.
